


365 days without you (what's another 1,067?)

by blueesnowflakes



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Author is a TommyInnit Apologist (Video Blogging RPF), Birthday, Boys In Love, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Clay | Dream is So Whipped (Video Blogging RPF), Crying, Early Mornings, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Men Crying, NOT EVEN RELEVANT TO THE FIC BUT ITS SO TRUE, Rings, Soft Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), The Author Regrets Nothing, Time Skips, i just want their relationship, promise rings, so much crying lol, they call eachother idiot, they're so sweet and soft, this took forever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 10:00:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30020037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueesnowflakes/pseuds/blueesnowflakes
Summary: in which george dies and dream is grieving
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	365 days without you (what's another 1,067?)

**Author's Note:**

> this took me so long but im so proud of this so hope you enjoy :)

“Uh- this is stupid isn’t it? I don’t even know anymore. Y’know it’s not even been a week and I’m already- I’m already falling to my knees. I’m weak but you knew that. You know- knew everything about me. It was you and me- you and me against the world. I don’t know how to do this without you. You were my light in the middle of the night. You were my hand to hold when it got cold. You created a safe haven for me just- just by being you.” 

Cries wracked his body as he closed in on himself more. 

“It isn’t- wasn’t- it wasn’t fair. We were supposed to do this together- not alone. We were never meant to be alone. We weren’t made to be alone. Do you- I remember the day. The day we met. God that was insane. I never- never expected that we’d get close, let alone start fucking dating. I miss you. Just come back to me, why don’t you? I need you. I need my-” 

_ Beep _

“Shit okay- it um, it cut out sorry. Why am I- why am I apologising? It’s not like you’re here to forgive me anyways. Oh and look at that- now I’m fucking crying. I didn’t want to cry tonight- let alone over you. I need to pull myself together don’t I? Yeah- yeah lemme go do that real quick.”

Maybe he would be okay.

“Hey! You miss me? I called you- what is it now? Two or three days ago? I’ve lost count. I’ve been- I’ve been taking care of myself. I had to take a break before- before, y’know. Uh, yeah- happy one week I guess. One week without you.” 

“Sorry. I just- I can’t do this right now. I never can though, now can I? I miss you.”

His voice cracked at the words, mumbling out some nonsensical sounds before letting his phone fall to the floor as well as himself, tucking his knees under his chin and pulling roughly on his hair. 

“I really- really fucking miss you.” He whispered into the cool air conditioned room, blood dripping through his hair from where he was squeezing his palms tightly with his fingernails. 

He didn’t call for a few days. 

His phone lay dormant on his bedside drawer while he went about his usual routine. Through breakfast to coding anything he could to taking a cold shower to blasting music to dinner, it lay there. He couldn’t feel anything. He was numb. 

It was a continuous loop, no thought to it. It just came naturally like he had been doing it for years let alone it only having been a week. 

Two weeks went by since he last called. 

His arm was beginning to ache, thighs already numb leaving him at a bit of an inability to move and function properly. 

_ 25 Missed Calls _

Maybe they cared where he was, not having heard from him since he had his breakdown. 

_ “You need to get out there again.” They would say.  _

_ “But for what- for who?” He would reply, words dancing on the edge between betrayal and despair.  _

Everything lost its meaning. 

Every word spoken falling to his hurt, broken ears phased together. 

They all meant the same thing to him- no matter how unrelated, they all brought him to the same conclusion,  _ “He’s not here anymore.”  _

His phone buzzed with one final message, glancing at the screen  _ ‘sapnap’.  _

“Hey,” he nearly laughed at the sound of his best friend's voice, something so familiar for his near non-working mind. So familiar, so comfortable, so- so him. “How you um- how’re you holding up?” He hears the boys voice drop, not missing the gentle tone behind his words. 

He notices everything about his best friend. 

He notices the slight voice cracks when he screams just a little bit too loud, he notices the way his shoulders shake when he laughs, he notices the way his eyes light up like a burning flame. 

“Dude…? You there?” 

He opened his mouth to speak, chapped lips pushing roughly against each other. His throat is rough and scratchy yet he somehow manages to make out a tiny groan to acknowledge that he hasn’t fully lost his voice yet. 

“So you’re not  _ dead _ but where the fuck did you go?” On the other end, Sapnap was out on his balcony, leaning over the edge, with the sun slowly rising in front of him. It was obvious neither of the men had gotten much sleep recently, bags growing heavier and heavier with each passing day. 

His voice is still croaky and he doesn’t know how anything apart from breathy gasps make their way past his lips, “Well- heh, you know me, just- yeah.” 

“That’s really not enough of an explanation,” the boy pauses to take something between his lips, “but- I’ll let it slide, I know it’s been hard.” He embraces the delicate sound of soft huffs of air. 

“How- how are you dealing with this so-” he takes a moment. Maybe he’s crossing a line that really shouldn’t be crossed. Maybe he’s misread the entire situation but he pushes anyway, “Well?”

“Why are you talking like I haven’t gone through shit as well?” He pauses. Neither of them are in the right mindset to be speaking like this right now but he doesn’t care. “You don’t see  _ half  _ the shit I go through. The amount of times I’ve just completely broken down in the bathroom? Yeah- no. No. You don’t see that. You don’t see me literally running down to the store to get these stupid little fucking cigarettes just because they’re the only thing that’s keeping me grounded. I’m not doing good and I know you aren’t either but  _ man- _ “ If you listened closely enough, you’d be able to make out the tiny sobs, the tiny gasps for air as he leant forward over the railing. “You’ve gotta stop fucking acting like you’re the  _ only  _ one that was affected by this.” 

“Yeah, yeah sorry. Just my fucking best friend- my boyfriend goes and fucking dies and I’m supposed to act  _ ‘okay’ _ ?” 

“Dream-“

“No, no. Don’t let me interrupt you, continue whatever stupid point you’ve got.” 

“I never said that. I never said that you have to act ‘okay’, I never said any of that shit. I’m just trying to hold myself together, I don’t need more of your bullshit. I don’t need you to act like I don’t go through shit, I don’t need you to- to do whatever the fuck you’re doing. You’re killing yourself! Don’t you realise that? Everyday, you don’t do  _ shit.  _ You sit around, you barely eat and by the sounds of it, you don’t sleep. What are you even doing? What are- are you waiting for him to call you back? Cause its not gonna fucking happen. He’s not going to call you back! He can’t Dream. He’s dead! He’s fucking dead! He’s not coming back. He can’t call you back. He’s not- he’s not coming back…” 

“And you think I don’t know that? I don’t call him because I expect him to call back, I know he’s not gonna fucking call back. I know he’s fucking  _ dead _ . I understand that Nick,” his name was spoken like it was poison, like it was toxic. His voice dropping back down to a gentle tone, crisp and sore from shouting, “I- I just- I fucking miss him. I miss him so fucking much. Some days I can’t get out of bed because it hurts me so much. It hurts me to breathe sometimes, my lungs feel so heavy and it  _ hurts. _ There’s so much pressure and it really- really fucking hurts. I know I’m ‘killing myself’ by the way that I treat myself everyday, the way that I don't treat myself everyday. But I don’t even fucking care anymore, I don’t care because- because I’m not sure what’ll kill me first. Myself or- or whatever emotional strain he’s put on me.” 

“Dream. Hey. Calm down, okay? It’s- it’s gonna be okay, yeah? My advice, take it slow, okay? You don’t have to- to get better straight away. No ones expecting you to but you’ve got to stop treating yourself like- like  _ this _ . I’m sure I could fly down if you really need me to but for the time being just get out of bed for at least two seconds, maybe even walk to the kitchen, could get some food while you’re there,” Sapnap advised, voice achy and deeper than usual. 

His head was pounding and he could feel his hands shaking where one rested in his hair, the other holding his phone up close to his ear. “I’m sorry for shouting,” he croaked out, throat burning. “But th- thank you Nick. Thank you.” 

His hands were still shaking as he hung up, trying his best to steady himself, he stood, room seemingly spinning around him though it was just another effect of the everlasting headache.

A warm cup of tea heats his hands, nearly burning himself from holding it too long but he didn’t care. The pain was something enjoyable, something he would praise if he could. Something he begs for. 

He sits, phone in his lap open to his messages. The blue texts seem so lonely, so desperate- just like him. Grey far gone, he scrolls. ‘ _ i love you <3’  _ it reads, the last message he received from a particular brunette. 

“I love you too,” he breathily whispers to the cold air, hoping his words would be heard by who he means for them to. It all seems too surreal to him, one minute he was holding him close, kissing his soft, warm lips and then the next he was alone, lips chapped and rough. 

The soft rings fill his ears as he pulls the phone close, he needs to stop, he knows. He needs to let go,  _ ‘he’s not going to call you back! He can’t Dream. He’s dead! He’s fucking dead! He’s not coming back.’  _

There comes a time in life, where you lose something important. 

For him, it was George. 

He couldn’t fully comprehend why his light was taken from him, why he was left in the dark. 

He never could quite wrap his head around the idea of one of them being there without the other and that familiar pull on his heart was back. 

_ “Hey, hey. Don’t cry now, that’s so silly,”  _

The voice echoed, tears falling faster down his cheeks. The room went silent as the phone stopped ringing.

“He- hey. I really thought I was getting better, yeah? I- I can't stop thinking about it. It’s on constant loop in the back of my mind. Replaying over and over and over and over- I can’t fucking take it anymore. It- it’s killing me. When they told me- god,” he groaned in frustration, eyes red and puffy, voice straining. 

“I remember it so fucking clearly down to- down to what I was wearing, what you were wearing.” 

_ “I’m just gonna run down to the store real quick,” George spoke while already rushing to the door, grabbing his keys.  _

_ His feet moved faster than he thought possible down the stairs, trying to catch his boyfriend before he left.  _

_ “Wait, gimme a kiss first George.”  _

_ “You’re gross,” he muttered before leaning up, soft warm lips connecting with his own.  _

_ “But you love me,” Dream whispered in return against his lips.  _

_ “Yeah, yeah. I love you Clay.” He revelled in the way that his name was spoken so easily, rolling right off the older’s tongue like it was made for George and only George to say.  _

_ “I love you too Georgie.” _

_ Then the door was being opened, one last smile and it was gone. He was gone.  _

_ Hours passed.  _

_ He lay limp, face squished into the cool pillow. Patches, his cat, had curled into his side, resting comfortably. He scratched at the warm fur next to him, receiving a small meow in return.  _

_ “Where are you Georgie?” he whispered, voice hoarse and dripping with tiredness. He reached for the empty space which usually was where the brunette resided, instead cold unused sheets met his wandering fingertips.  _

“I was so, so scared.” 

He hung up quickly, not able to take it anymore. He finds himself in a familiar position, close to what he had recalled earlier, a faint buzzing heard from his phone which had fallen between his legs. 

His throat was closing up, heart racing faster. The last time he had a panic attack was near a month ago, feeling unfamiliar and cold. 

“I need- I need water, I need food, I need-” He looks back down at his shaking hands, palms with clear red incisions from where he squeezed them, “Help. I need help.” He concluded. 

It's been a month. 

He’s sitting outside this time, trying to recollect his thoughts. It’s his first time outside since.

He’s been doing better he thinks though he can't quite tell. Everythings blurry; all his thoughts phase together and he can’t quite pick one from another. It’s progress, he concludes,  _ progress _ . 

It’s been lonely. He keeps going to call for the smaller in the morning  _ “Breakfasts ready!” _ , nobody responds. 

It hurts but he pushes. 

His scars are starting to clear up. Rough patches of skin turn to nothing more than a pale, faded cut. 

Everytime his phone rings, there's a slight glimmer of hope that it will be him. He never picks up anymore, he can’t be bothered. Plus, what’s the point of picking up when there’s the chance it’ll be bad news,  _ again.  _ Better to live in denial and ignorance, yeah? That’s how he wished it went, he wanted to go back in time and force himself to never pick up that phone again. 

_ “Is this C-Clay?” _

_ “Yeah,” he responds, voice quivering. It certainly wasn’t George, so who was calling from his phone?  _

_ “I’m really sorry. I- I know you probably don’t want to be getting this news from a stranger-”  _

_ No. No. No.  _

_ Anxiety already chasing after his every thought. _

_ Nothing bad happened to George… right? Right. Yes. He’s perfectly fine, he’s just on his way home from the store. He’s alive. He’s alive.  _

_ “George,” the stranger speaks with hesitance to his shaking words, “I believe that was his name. George, he got in- he got in an accident.”  _

_ “But he’s fine right? He’s perfectly fine. He’s just a little bit hurt. He’ll be home soon.” Dream cuts in, tears already glossing his perfect pale freckled cheeks.  _

_ “I’m really sorry for your loss Clay.” _

_ His name wasn’t spoken the same way that George said it. It didn’t hold that deeper meaning, it didn’t hold that same affection.  _

_ “You were in his emergency contacts. We- we lost him about two minutes ago. 9:47pm on the 5th of June 2021, in- incase you wanted to mark it down.” _

_ “Thank you.” Dream stifles a laugh because how funny is that?  _ ‘Together forever, right?’  _ Forever my ass, he thinks to himself. “Thank you,” he repeats, “Thank you-”  _

_ “Toby.” The man cuts in, “Call me Toby. I can, um, leave you my number if you ever need to talk.” _

_ “Well thank you Toby. That- that’d be nice. Thank you.”  _

He really wishes he didn’t pick up that call. But now, here he is, staring at the bright glistening stars reminiscing on a night similar to this from many months ago. They lay together, happy. They always were with each other. 

_ “It’s called pretty privilege you idiot,” he laughs.  _

_ “Your idiot,” the other responds.  _

_ And his heart aches as he listens but he agrees, “My idiot.”  _

“My idiot,” he repeats to the brightest star and his heart aches again. 

“Forever my idiot,” he thinks while he lays back in the grass. 

He thinks back on those times regularly. How peaceful and relaxing it all was. All the promises he made when he was drunk on love and desire- desire to be with the other, desire to devour him whole and never let him go. 

_ “I do. I promise- I promise I’ll love you until the end of the world. I’ll love you until I stop breathing- hell, even then, I’ll still love you. I’ll love you until our dying heart beats fade out and all we can do is love with what remains of our hearts. I’ll love you when the only option we have left is to seize the moment because it might be our last one together. I’ll love you even if you break me- shatter my heart and leave me in shambles. I’ll love you even if you betray me. I’ll love you even after you leave me because I have no other options. I’ll love you like my love is my dying breath and I have to hold onto it forever. I’ll love you no matter what because- because you’re my best friend and you mean everything to me. I’ll cherish every dying cornflower because I know they’re your favourite. I’ll leave one by your side, by your grave every night. I’ll wait for you to pick it up again. I’ll wait for you to pick it up again like you did on the very first night we met. I’ll wait for you. I promise George, I promise.”  _

_ The other lets out a soft giggle, “I’m not going anywhere. Not yet. Not for awhile.” He pushed the golden locks back behind the taller’s ear, pressing a firm kiss to his forehead.  _

He doesn’t cry. No, no, he smiles. He smiles so wide it hurts his cheeks. He smiles so wide that it seems like it stretches on forever but it’s a pained smile. A smile that holds so much meaning of despair and darkness. Smiles don’t always mean happiness he learns quickly but he still makes pained words. 

“I hope,” he whispers, voice fragile and careful, “I hope he’s happy- wherever he is.” And he thinks back to those promises. He misses them. He misses the way they made his heart sting with warmth and devotion. He wishes he made more. 

It’s a week later. 

He musters up the courage to talk to somebody. 

“It’s hard,” he answered the call. 

“What is?” Sapnap inquired. 

“Loving.” He spoke softly, fiddling with a small coin from his pocket. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He answered, voice cracking though he couldn’t seem to care for it. 

“It’s like a game of chess,” he concludes after the dreadful silence lingers just a bit too long, “One wrong move and it’s all over.” 

He came to the conclusion a few days prior.

_ “I think I'm losing,” he speaks late one night, no one around to hear him. His words are accompanied by steady breathing. “I’m losing a finished game against myself and I'm tired of it.”  _

“Do you think you made the wrong move?” The younger snaps his attention away from his wandering thoughts. 

“No.” He speaks confidently but hushed. “No, I think for us it was a timed game. Neither of us lost nor won simply just ran out of time.” 

“Then why are you still playing?” 

He pauses. “I- I don’t think I’m ready to give it up just yet. Like, I spent so much time wracking my brain for the next move to play-” 

“But you ran out of time. It took you so long to figure out where to move next that you didn’t notice the timer had run out and you still haven’t because you’re still trying to figure out where to move next.” 

“Yeah.” He answers, all thoughts coming back to one thing. “But I feel like I can let go. I think I’m ready.” 

“Then do it,” the other huffs out. 

“One final move,” he returns.

Two months and seven days. 

He smiles. He’s gotten so far, he notes.

“Hey,” he speaks to the silent call. “Y’know what I realised the other day? I still- I still haven’t gone to your grave. Strange really, I don’t know why I haven’t yet. It’s been two months? Yeah. Two months. Maybe I’ll visit soon, maybe I’ll go with Sapnap, maybe I’ll never get to go. I’m going on a bit of a trip soon, for near a month. I might have time to visit then but- I don’t know, we’ll see. It’s not even that far away,” he scoffs. How pathetic. “Like a ten minute drive I’m pretty sure. God I’m actually so  _ fucking  _ pathetic.”

And everything seems to spin around him. His feet wobble and his hands shake but he tries his best to not let his guard down because then he’s admitting defeat, admitting that he’s weak. But he is weak. He’s so weak for this boy. 

“I keep on doing this- think I’m getting better, call you and then just get so much worse again. I- I can’t delete your number, that’s like the last thing I have of yours. This is all so shit. I just want you back. I just want us back. I just want those midnight embraces, early mornings with sore throats, those- those warm kisses, flavourful cups of tea for when we were sick. Everything. I want it all back. I want to be able to love you again and you love me in return. Side by side. You’d call me crazy, you’d tell me to put myself out there. Fall in love again. I don’t want to- I can’t. I can’t because I’d kill myself ten times over before I have to love anyone else. I’ve learnt how to love, I don’t want to do it again. But I’m so scared- I’m so scared George and I just want you to hold me, to hold you.” He pauses as though his words are too delicate to be heard. Everything spins once more and it all aches. His eyes start to droop and there’s that pressure on his lungs again, his throat starts to close and he can’t breathe. He has to stop himself from losing. He has to- “What if I never get better?” 

He glances back at the window, it’s stained with tears of the sky. He likes to imagine it’s George’s tears, that it’s the one way that they can communicate clearly but then he can’t stand the thought and wipes away every last crumb, any clue that there was ever anything there. He grabs the candle that rests there, lighting it and letting the sweet smell of vanilla fill the room.

It’s a soft and bittersweet day, one that he would spend with George cuddled into his side, movie playing quietly in the background as they embrace each other. 

_ “You’re so impatient Dreamie, I’ll be back in a second. ‘M just grabbing your present,” he watches as George walks away, hips swaying, flaunting the delicate black skirt he wore.  _

_ “Oh?”  _

_ “Shut up you horny fuck,” the brunette steps back in through the doorway, holding a small box wrapped in a dark green paper. “Happy birthday my dear.” George sits across his lap as he lies back on the couch.  _

_ It’s hidden in a box engraved with gold writing on the top and it soothes him as he looks back at the boy on top of him.  _

‘21! cant believe you’ve made it this far. i love you so much dreamie <3’ 

_ “Don’t cry, no- what the fuck. It’s your birthday! No! Stop crying. Dream. I’m gonna cry now- Dream! Happy day no sad day. Clay, Clay, Clay, Clay. Stop crying goddamnit! No- no now you’re crying even more.”  _

_ “George.” And his face is drenched in tears but he smiles, wide and happy. He smiles and there’s no hidden secret to it. He knows it's silly, to get so happy over a few simple words but he doesn’t stop.  _

_ “No. You hate it, don’t you? You haven’t even opened it and you’re crying because you hate it. And- and you’re crying!” The smaller pulls at his hair, now shedding tears of his own.  _

_ “I love it,” he breathes, gentleness and pure truth clinging tightly to his words. “I love it so much.” He repeats as he pulls the boy down to nuzzle his chest.  _

_ “Open it then.” _

_ It held a small ring box, maroon and velvety. George still hadn’t looked up from his place on top of his boyfriend’s wide chest, hands reaching up to the green shirt to grip while he waited.  _

_ It was a silver band and if inspected closely you could make out a date,  _ ‘03/13/18’.  _ If he could fall in love all over again, he so would. He would do anything for this boy.  _

_ “It’s- it’s our anniversary,” he choked out after a moment, tears falling like water rushing down a stream, peaceful and hushed. George glanced up at him, smiling wide.  _

_ “I know.” He pulled up his own hand, showing the matching ring which lay on his middle finger. “They’re promise rings.” He concluded, crawling up to catch Dream’s lips in his.  _

_ “Thank you Georgie.” _

_ “Happy birthday-” _

“Happy birthday to me.”

And there’s no response. No George to pull him close. No George for him to absolutely fawn over. __

He fiddles with the ring once more, twisting it around his finger. He doesn’t dare to look back at the bedside where the box sits, holding the other matching ring. It shouldn’t be there. It should be resting on George’s delicate, pale finger as they intertwine their hands and listen to the soft clinks of the rings meeting.  _ He should be here. _

Three months. 

He’s leaning against Sapnap’s shoulder, feet dangling off the small ledge. 

“Do you think-” he twists his neck to gaze up at the younger, “Do you think he’d still be alive if I stopped him?” 

Sapnap’s gaze doesn’t change from where he’s looking straight ahead at the quickly blossoming amber painted horizon but his eyes do gloss over with pitiful tears and his words seem to shake when he finds his voice. “Don’t dwell on something you can’t change.” 

“I know, I know but-” 

“No.” The shorter boy interrupts, twirling a loose piece of his raven hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. “Some things are just meant to happen- fate, as some would say.” He takes a breath before he continues, “You miss him, don’t you?” 

Dream doesn’t miss the way the other shakes a little, holding back tears. “Yeah. It’s really hard. I think I’m actually doing better this time though.” He hesitates on his words, voice soft and crackly, “Do you think he’d want me to be happy?” 

Sapnap laughs this time, body shaking, tears starting to fall at a slow familiar pace. He has to hold himself back from just fully pushing the other off the cliff instead he turns, meeting comforting green eyes. “Of course you idiot. He loved you.” 

The blonde doesn’t miss it. 

_ Loved. _

‘He  _ loved _ you.’ 

“Are you- are you ever going to visit?” Sapnap continues. 

“The grave?” 

“Yeah.” 

The conversation is fragile, unspoken words dancing across glass.

“Eventually I think I will. It’s just there’s never one good time to do it.” The blonde fiddles a little bit, fingers tracing the waistband of his black jeans. 

“You’re scared.” Sapnap’s already looking at him, gaze demanding and assertive. Dream reaches for the boy’s flushed cheeks, wiping away the still tears. 

“Maybe. Never said I wasn’t.” 

It’s comforting. The slow rock of the ocean below, the rising orange sky in front and the occasional squeezes on his right hand from the younger boy next to him. He’ll be okay, he decides after a moment. He had Sapnap and for now, that was all he needed. 

Four months and thirty days. 

“It’s your birthday.” He concludes after a moment and it’s all so quiet. 

He’s getting used to being alone. 

He lets the tears pool in his eyes but for once he stops them from wrecking his perfect complexion and sun kissed skin stays pale, star bitten cheeks stay delicate and faint and soft green eyes stay washed out and faded. 

“So where are you?” He whispers and everything settles around him. 

Six months and twenty days. 

He doesn’t know how time has passed so quick. 

“Merry Christmas my love.” He whispers to the crisp morning air. His throat is rough and sore and his right hand is raised to his lips but he thinks of mornings similar to this. The last Christmas they spent together is the one he can recall the easiest, fingers intertwined and slow kisses. 

He holds on to those moments full of love and desire; the way his eyes glisten with desperation and need, his lips part shakily and he takes a moment to breath in the clear air around him because every other time he takes a moment for himself, he feels himself suffocating and he struggles. He pulls against the chain restraints but it all falls to dust and he pushes through the rough waves but they part and fall away. 

Words he’d only share with the older and he chuckles at the idea of whispering those same things to a lifeless stone carved carefully with the name of a boy who he let steal his heart and rip it away from him. His left hand brushes over a once filled spot which proudly held his heart years ago but now it’s empty, it emptied the second he met the chocolate brown coloured timid gaze and he audibly whines into the honest peach painted air. 

He whines and whines again. 

_ “Let me steal you away. Steal you away and keep you hidden under the cloak of darkness and let it just be us. You and me. Glowing sunrises and dimmed sunsets. Make me want to write every breath you take, paint every smile you adorn and picture every move you make.”  _

_ George laughs, raw and loud and it engulfs his whole body. His head tilts back, showing off faded purple bruises up his neck. His whole body is like a canvas, milky white, pale, smooth skin. He meets wandering green eyes and he smiles; Dream imagines he has crimson red paint and actual artistic talent and he imagines painting out all the curves and chapped lines of George’s lips. It goes on and on and he can’t stop. His thoughts run wild as gentle words rush past him. _

_ “What?” It’s a question, hidden by laughs that dance across the room.  _

_ He tries to turn, hard and intense but he crumbles under the passion the other holds. “Let me unravel you, piece by piece,” he breathes and he has to hold himself back from jumping on the other, fueled by lust. “Let me have you.”  _

_ “Then take me, I’m all yours.”  _

It’s strange- how fast it all changes. He likes looking on from the crowd, observing the way that people deal. He thinks back on one night where he stood in front of the mirror, tears washing over freckles and sharp curves of his cheeks- he thinks back on the way that his heart clenched and whole body shook. 

_ “Don’t miss me when I’m gone.” _

_ It’s mixed between moans and the lewd sounds of skin on skin, his hips stutter and he chokes on his words.  _

_ “Wh- what?”  _

_ “Just don’t- please.” George’s cheeks are met with the steady flow of tears again and it’s not unfamiliar especially not in situations like these and he kisses them away before they meet the creamy sheets crumpled beneath them.  _

_ “George, where did- where did that come from?” Ankles hook round the bottom of his back and urge for him to continue but with a slower pace as they share their words in the secrecy and privacy of their own home.  _

_ “Pro-” his words break as he moans, high and loud, dominating every emotion swirling around them, “Promise me Dream.” _

_ The words dance across the tip of his tongue and he hesitates because he’s never been one to break promises but he gives in anyways, “Of course my love.”  _

_ He revels in the way George smiles and it reaches every piece on his delicate body. He smiles back and he dips down to capture pink lips in his.  _

It’s pink. It’s all pink. Like strawberry milk, it’s pale and perfectly sweet. It’s something he never wants to let go of so he lets it suffocate him and swallow him. 

_ “You taste of- of strawberry candies. Now do me. What do I taste like?” George bounced up and down giddily, smiling at the flustered expression his boyfriend now wore.  _

_ “Vanilla and… pink.”  _

_ “Pink?” He sputtered out, face twisting in confusion. “How can I taste like a fucking colour?”  _

_ “Just do.” He concludes. It’s all too difficult to explain.  _

Seven months. 

He’s getting worse, he realises just a day too late. 

It’s 3:57pm on a Sunday. His body screams at him as he moves and everything  _ aches. _ He remembers waking up to George in a similar state after long nights of subdued kisses and sweaty bodies mingling. 

He grumbles as his mind fills with thoughts of  _ George. _

His eyes are painted with constellations, bright and expansive as they glaze over and take in everything of Dream. They look sharp and brown, so extremely  _ brown.  _ They melt into each other and intimidate golden rays of sunlight. They’re crying, not actual tears but they’re constantly glossy and they wash away all Dream’s worries. They hold every emotion close. When engulfed in the glistening sunrise, they stand out on their own and make their own sunrise. They taste of sweet summer night whiskey and run along the lines of toffee so soft yet so hard that they make your jaw ache. 

He’s left to wonder and wonder and wonder. 

“How does it feel to die?” He speaks after a moment and if he listens close enough he can hear a soft answer, woven between hours and hours of love, yearning and want. 

_ “It hurts.”  _

One year. 

He’s there this time. 

Somehow it took him a year but he is there.

His fingers gracefully dance over the engraved stone and he feels a burn at the back of his throat as his eyes sting. He wills away the tears as he settles against the stone. It’s not comfortable, he quickly realises but he doesn’t move. 

“I’m finally here.” He speaks to the softened dirt and tears fall. He lets them this time, it hurts and it aches but he pushes. 

“It took me a year- a whole year to visit. I’m such a shitty boyfriend, if you were here you’d tell me to get off my ass, stop crying and then hug me when you realise that you’d probably come across as too harsh.” He can’t stop himself this time and he lets the tears fall across star bitten cheeks. 

“I miss you.” He repeats for what feels like the fiftieth time but he does it again and again. 

_ “Don’t miss me.” George whispers again.  _

_ “I’m not one to break promises.” Dream’s voice is soft and scared.  _

_ “Then don’t.”  _

Everything feels rushed and he sees pink again. He feels safe. 

It paints the night sky, reflecting on small puddles scattered around him. It falls from the leaves of the autumnal trees and it reaches the back of his throat. It pulls hearty laughs as he opens and he takes it. It was like a drug and he was high on it. His heart vibrates with a pull of longing and he whines. His head pounds but it soothes him like honey and lemon tea. 

George was pink and vanilla. 

Vibrant, pulling, full of want, something easy to fall for quickly but he was also something familiar and comfortable. He left a burn on your tongue and a sting in the back of your throat, he made you want to hate him but you can’t because he’s so reliable and easy. He was something forbidden, something not to be craved. 

Dream craved. 

1,432 days. 

It's been 1,067 days since he visited. 

He’s the one dying this time. 

7th of May 2025, he vaguely registers. 

“You remember what I said a few years back?” he held onto Sapnaps hand tightly, “About how love is like a game of chess?”

“Yeah.”

“Our game- I never made my final move.” He met the others wandering gaze, “Do you think it’s safe to say checkmate yet?” 

“If winning a game of love means being together forever,” Sapnap paused, taking a deep breath before looking back at the heart rate monitor, “Then yeah, I think it’s safe to say checkmate.”

“Well then,” he laid back against the pillows, chest heaving in pain, “Checkmate Georgie.” he whispered to the pale beige ceiling. 

He indulges in the feeling of his boyfriend’s warm arms. 

“It’s pink,” he speaks before he can process his words and he doesn’t remember how he got here but he knew he was safe. 

They were safe and  _ together. _

“1,432 days. 1,432 days without you Dream and- and all you have to say is ‘it’s pink’?” He giggled and it’s muffled by the taller’s shirt but it’s all so clear. Everything is so clear now that George is here. 

> He wants to speak. He wants to tell him how much he missed him, how much he loves him, how happy he is but his voice cracks and he loses himself in the feeling of everything around him instead. 

But it’s pink. It’s  _ pink  _ and it’s all so clear. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey,” George returns and he wonders how it’s been for him. 

Everything is so fragile, like walking on glass. 

Soft, sweet, chapped lips connect with his own and it’s pink but it tastes of vanilla. It burns his throat, stings his tongue and his heart dances with love. 

They pull away and he can’t stop staring at George because he’s here _. _ They might be dead but they're together and he's _here._ He's here, in his arms. 

“I love you.” He doesn’t expect it in return, he doesn’t know what he expects but he’s content with it all. 

“Idiot.” George speaks with a playful quip and in disagreement to many other’s opinions, his words aren’t harsh or mean. He laughs and it’s everything they need. 

**Author's Note:**

> idiot; a term of endearment


End file.
